Firestone Page 5

  Sephonei sighed. Great. She was held captive by a secret order, run by an eerily calm man who wore bull horns and locked himself high on the Citadel. And not only that, he had some kind of blood mage power and threatened to kill her parents if she failed him again.

  Ku-aya found Sephonei’s eyes then winked. “Promise not to blab if I tell you something?”

  Sephonei raised her brows then nodded.

  Ku-aya leaned in. “I think the Order secretly run things around here. It seems right as rain when you think about it. Nobody ever sees the King anymore. They say his greed keeps him in his treasury night an’ day an’ that Sin is the one in charge.”

  “Wow. I didn’t know that.” Sephonei looked at Ku-aya’s glove and winced. “Mind if I ask you somethin’?”

  Ku-aya nodded.

  “What’s with the glove?”

  Ku-aya looked at her glove. “What d’you mean? It’s a glove.”

  Sephonei chose her words carefully, not wanting to offend her mentor. “Well… it kind of has a funny…”

  Ku-aya held in her smirk before she burst into belly laughs. “Ai, it stinks fierce, don’t it? Sometimes I wave it around for fun when I’m beltin’ out orders. I like to smack Abil with it; he acts like he doesn’t care, an’ he pretends he doesn’t notice, but I know he does. I am terrible for it; I know…”

  Sephonei giggled then sidestepped to avoid the smell.

  Ku-aya rubbed the tears from her eyes. “My mother gave me this glove before she died. I’ve practiced shootin’ with the mini-trident since I was a kid—been in competitions an’ tournaments. An’ a well-oiled leather glove is essential for all those in the vanguard. It helps protect the hand from vibrations when the trident is shot.”

  “What’s a vanguard?” Sephonei said.

  Ku-aya squinted then winked. “I guess they didn’t teach Atlantean battle tactics in merchant school, yaa?”

  Sephonei laughed. “No, they didn’t. This is all new to me.” She took a deep breath; the salty air felt good in her lungs.

  Ku-aya leaned into Sephonei. “The vanguard is the front line of warriors who use both melee and limited-range weaponry during combat. The mini-trident is the preferred weapon of the vanguard.”

  Sephonei nodded.

  Ku-aya held the trident out for Sephonei to see. “This handle is made from solid ironwood, with the core hollowed out so it can house the bound cord that attaches the trident hook to the shaft.” Ku-aya pointed to the shaft then to the three-pronged hook. “The cool part is this switch right here. I won’t push it now, but when I do, you’ll see what power this little piece has.”

  An urge to push the button washed over Sephonei; she contained the urge.

  Ku-aya paused then sighed. “This stone quest… Now don’t be frightened, but—”

  “What? Is it Sin?”

  Ku-aya shook her head. “It’s just I’ve heard the seamen talkin’ is all. They say there’s been some action along the coast. The last ship to sail the coast saw a small troop of harpies, but I’m sure its nothin’ to worry about. Our helmsman will steer us clear of any danger; he knows the tides better than most.”

  Sephonei looked at the color field surrounding the master Crystal Hunter; it was a pure yellow, with tiny flecks of orange that floated from the core to the outskirts of the yellow. The yellow became less saturated farther away from her body.

  The thought of harpies fluttered in her mind, but it was Abil, standing alone at the peak of the ferry’s nose, who stole her attention. “What about Abil? Is he part of the vanguard?”

  Ku-aya laughed, “No. Abil is a ranger.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t think he would be of much use in a melee fight, but at range, I don’t think there’s a better shot.”

  Seagulls circled high in the air before a shadow darkened the skies. Towering high above and anchored to two stone-stack pillars stood the golden statue of the bull-horned god—coined by the commoners as the “Gates of Atlantea.” The enormous, golden statue stood watch over Atlantea, each foot anchored to one side of the canal. Its mass was only eclipsed by Atlantea’s wealth.

  As the small ferry approached the final gate to the open seas, the large statue cast its imposing shadow on them. One hand held the golden trident, and the other pressed forward, stopping all who dared to enter the gates uninvited.

  Ku-aya handed Sephonei a small golden token. “When we get to the main harbor before the gates, we’ll board the transport ship. Here’s your token. Prepare yourself to disembark, yaa?”

  Ku-aya’s pace slowed as she marched on the wooden planks entering the harbor district. The smell of fish filled the air. The seagulls circled above; they squawked and swooped but didn’t land.

  Sephonei caught sight of two harbor guards standing at attention at the end of the pier. The harbor guards looked fiercer and more brutish than the guards of inner Atlantea. These two wore golden chest plates with matching bracers and shin guards. Their plates were etched with the same circular design as the one imprinted on Sin’s door. Crimson silk tunics peeked out from under their golden armor, and they each gripped a three-point trident and wore a scowl on their faces. Their tridents stood at almost twice their height. Form beat function in the design of that weapon.

  Sephonei leaned to Ku-aya and whispered, “Is that thing even functional?”

  Ku-aya snorted loudly and brought her hand to her mouth in hopes of muffling the outburst. “Not functional at all. Size isn’t everything.” Ku-aya detached her mini-trident from her belt and spun it then winked at Sephonei.

  Waves crashed against the wooden pier, sending sea foam into the air and onto the planks; the soggy wood moaned under their feet. One lone ship was tethered to the dock, the taut rope straining then relaxing with the passing waves. The coiled rope ladder that hung from the side of the ship swayed gently.

  As they approached, the two harbor guards stamped their golden tridents to the deck in unison, releasing a muted thud.

  Ku-aya produced her token and handed it to the guard. “One token for the mainland. Under Sin’s orders.” Ku-aya stuck her thumb at Sephonei and Abil. “They’re with me, yaa?”

  The harbor guard snatched the token with his free hand. As he leaned, the weight and sheer size of the golden trident pulled at him, the tip of the weapon moving in the sky. He looked at the token, flipped it, then brought it to his eye. “Looks good. Carry on.” He pointed to the swaying ladder on the side of the ship. “You can board.”

  Abil produced his token, and the guard sent him to the ship as well. As he passed the guards, he looked back with a snide smirk. “Ai, I think I saw the li’l fistler hide somethin’ in her hood. She might be tryin’ to smuggle somethin’ out of Atlantea, maybe to the mainland?”

  Sephonei winced. Abil, that plucknuckler.

  The token guard stamped his trident. “Take the hood off, li’l miss.”

  Sephonei huffed and slid the smoky blue hood from her head. She held it out for the guard. “See? Nothing.” She glared at Abil as he strode smugly down the pier, whistling.

  The other guard approached and patted her down. “Have you anythin’ else down ’ere?”

  Sephonei spread her arms and shook her head. “No. I’ve got nothin’.”

  Once satisfied, he called to the other guard, “Li’l miss is ahreet. I found nothin’.”

  Sephonei produced her token then ran after Abil.

  The Crystal Hunters sailed from Atlantea to the shores of the mainland for over a week. The large wooden vessel on which they sailed hugged the coastline as they sailed south. The mech gears, powered by photonic energy from the eternal stones, chugged behind the vessel, churning sea foam in their wake.

  Huge, chalky, white cliffs stood guard and lined their way. The ship swayed as Sephonei sat on a spongy wooden bench near the front of the ship. Her sketchbook was on her lap as she scribbled madly with her piece of charcoal. She was intent on getting the harsh lines of the cliffs just right. The
light hit the striations of the cliffs in a way Sephonei needed to capture; she was working on the shading.

  She had hoped they would come across a mystical creature by now, but there had been none. She longed to see one up close. Ku-aya had mentioned that on this trip, because of the current sea storms, they would be sailing closer to the coast, so the chances of seeing some mystical creatures were greater. But still, there had been none. Sephonei wanted to study them, draw them, and analyze them. How were their limbs connected? Did they make a significant sound or have a distinct coloration or pattern? Were they hybrids? If so, what two species had spliced? Maybe it was three? Sephonei needed answers.

  Her parents had gained a volume of scrolls from an exotic trader the previous year. It detailed the classifications and habits of many mystical beasts. They labeled it ‘The Bestiary.’ Sephonei had begged her parents to let her keep it. They made a deal with her that she could keep the scrolls if she helped tame horses. Her father had noble contacts and needed horse tamers from time to time. Her father, ever the merchant, was always looking to provide services to the nobles—at a premium cost. To Sephonei, it had been a small price to pay for The Bestiary. The volume classified all the known mystical creatures of the world. The hybrids interested Sephonei the most, and she had studied the book intensely.

  She tired of the constant chugging of the mech gears as they roiled behind the ship. She also tired of her stale shipmates. Closed quarters with Abil were less than desirable. She closed her eyes and sucked in a cool misty breath. The seagulls and the churning of the ship almost made her feel like she was on her parents’ barge. The thought of Sin entered her mind, and she winced. No, no, no… don’t ruin this memory. Too late. How was she going to ensure her parents were safe? Could she even? And what was this color field she kept seeing around people? She looked at the main deck where the helmsman steered the ship. His aura was a deep green; he seemed focused on not hitting the cliffs.

  Abil snuck up from behind Sephonei and snatched her sketchbook out of her hands. “What you got there, li’l fistler?”

  Her charcoal flew from her hand, marked the sodden deck of the ship, then rolled away. Sephonei lost sight of the charcoal and saw the back of Abil’s tall leather boots as he stalked away, flipping through the pages of her sketchbook.

  Sephonei’s heart raced. She drew everything she saw. Everything.

  The longer Abil flipped through the pages, the better the chance he would flip to his page. Sephonei had a page for everyone and anything that caught her attention. Abil had caught her attention. His eyepiece, the way the light hit it, how it gleamed. His annoyingly dull, gray aura and how it perplexed her. Hopefully, she could get it back before he saw—

  “What do we have here?” Abil turned, and his gaze lifted from the pages of the worn leather sketchbook. He snickered.

  Sephonei stormed over to Abil and grasped for her book. “Give that back.”

  He stuck out his long arm and plopped his hand on her forehead, holding her at arm’s length.

  “You captured the light in my eyes so well,” he teased, holding Sephonei in place as she struggled against his defense.

  Sephonei couldn’t get closer, so she backed off. The sudden release of pressure caused Abil to lose balance. Sephonei lunged forward for her art, her privacy. Abil was too fast—he re-balanced and lifted his arm. Sephonei stumbled as she grasped at nothing, almost falling to the deck. She turned and felt her face flush.

  “What is all this stuff around me? That’s weird, kid. You need to work on your background shading. At least you got the eyes right.”

  Sephonei couldn’t think of what to say. He had no right to steal her book, to look through it. “You mean your eye, not eyes!” She countered. “The other one has that weird thing coverin’ it an’ isn’t a real eye. You look like a cyclops.” Sephonei looked him up and down, scanning for a weakness. “With a greasy tuft of cabbage-colored hair on your head.” It was more the color of wet grass, but cabbage was all Sephonei could think of. She hated cabbage.

  “Ah come on, li’l fistler, be nice.” Abil pivoted and paged through her book. “Oh, look… you even dedicated a page to our fearless leader!”

  Ku-aya called down from the main deck, “A swarm of harpies ahead. Abil, to the crow’s nest. Now!”

  Abil snapped his head around and scanned the cliffs. He dropped the sketchbook and raced to the center of the ship, scrambling up the rigging. The taut ropes angled and knotted to a point at the crow’s nest. His crossbow, loosely strapped to his back, jostled as he ascended.

  Sephonei eyed the cliffs. A swarm of large, bird-like creatures swooped and dove into the depths of the blue sea. Ku-aya said they were harpies. Sephonei scanned her memory for a picture, mentally flipping through the pages of The Bestiary.

  Aha!

  A hybrid. A winged creature, half bird, with the face of a human and a stench of excrement. They were said to nest near rocky cliffs. Sephonei eyed the cliffs again. The Bestiary at least had that right. She wondered what they looked like up close; it was hard to tell size from such a distance, but she guessed they were larger than she was.

  The vessel charged forward, and the swarming harpies that had been circling ahead, close to a jut-out in the cliffs, took notice. The swooping ceased, and they screeched and flocked toward the ship. The helmsman barked orders, and the vessel shifted from the coast. “Away from the cliffs over yon to the open seas!”

  The harpies circled high above the ship, screeching. Sephonei scrambled to her sketchbook. She needed to capture this. Everyone seemed fear stricken, but Sephonei was filled with wonder. As the troop circled, their auras became one shared color field that stretched far beyond the harpies on the outskirts of the group. It was full of unknown colors, more saturated than any she had seen before.

  One harpy in particular caught her eye. She could tell it was the leader because of its size but also because the other harpies seemed to mimic its movements. It called out in a blood curdling screech that sent shivers through Sephonei. She was excited, but not scared. She had already named him Harper. It was a quirk of hers to name things, especially creatures that caught her eye. It helped her remember the interesting details of her subjects.

  She searched the wooden deck for her charcoal.

  The helmsman fired out more orders to the crew. “’Ave at ’em, boyos! They ain’t gonna board this ship and yukken it down on us. Git ’em outta ’ere!”

  Ku-aya yelled to Abil, who was perched in the crow’s nest, “Don’t let them board!”

  The helmsman twisted the wheel and steered the vessel away from shore, and the ship screamed at the motion. Sephonei fell over, and her sketchbook flew from her hands.

  A figure emerged from the cabin deck. His wide-brimmed hat flexed in the wind. Sephonei noticed the metallic arm first, and the red cape second. She felt suddenly cold as she saw him cock a metallic bow, and she stopped breathing as he fired off an arrow that sailed through the air. Sephonei’s eyes followed the projectile, and she gasped as it pierced one harpy. She let out a breath, relieved that it wasn’t Harper, but she reeled at the sound of metal and bone. Sparks of lightning shocked and sizzled around the harpy’s body as it spiraled to the ground. When it hit the sodden decking, it didn’t stop convulsing, and the shards of lightning snapped around it. The sound would be with her forever. It rang through the briny air and clung to her heart.

  Who was this guy with the wide-brimmed hat? How did he shoot lightning from his bow? She had only noticed her trio and the seaman onboard the ship.

  As the harpies saw one of their own smash to the deck, their wails of pain filled the air. Their aura, now missing a piece, changed from a mix of dark yellows to a saturated blood-red. Sephonei scrambled to catch her bearings. She stood and gripped the railing. The helmsman called out to the seaman, and they responded in hurried tasks: pulling on ropes, yanking knots, and adjusting the sails. Some cowered from the harpy attack. Arrows flew, and more har
pies died, some crashing to the sea and others to the deck of the ship, their auras stamped out as the arrows pierced their flesh.

  Sephonei’s eyes fell to Harper. His aura seemed to writhe with pain; shades of red burst from his core, pulsating and popping at violent angles. Harper’s aura was primal, saturated to a point where his limbs were lost in color.

  He dodged the projectiles and screeched orders of his own. His sentries obeyed his commands, dive-bombing the ship with no abandon. Their dark blue, scaled bodies crashed and tore at the deck. Splinters from the impacts splayed in all directions.

  Sephonei scrambled to her sketchbook. She remembered a page in The Bestiary that described the habits of most mystical creatures and how they were territorial. She understood—the harpies were territorial. The ship had invaded their space.

  Sephonei called out to the others, but her pleas went unheard. She raced to the railing of the forecastle and called out louder, “They are territorial, stop shooting!”

  Her call was drowned out by the noise of the battle. She needed to get closer. She leaped down the stairs that led to the deck, two-by-two. She raced to where Ku-aya stood fighting with a harpy. In its hunched stance, the creature was the height of Ku-aya. Its taloned feet struck the air in fitful blasts. Ku-aya dodged and weaved. Her mini-trident struck at the harpy with great speed; she pierced its flesh, and it fell to the ground.

  Sephonei gripped Ku-aya. “They’re territorial! We’re in their space. I don’t think they would’ve attacked otherwise!”

  THUD.

  Harper landed in front of Sephonei and Ku-aya, the impact shaking the ship. He stood several feet taller than both Ku-aya and Sephonei. He opened his maw, and a high-pitched screech pierced the air. His wings stretched to their max. Excrement covered his multi-blue-toned feathers, and a pungent scent filled the air as his body quivered.

  Sephonei remembered her lute and how she had bewitched the swarm of beetles. She remembered their eyes and how they followed her song. Maybe she could bewitch the harpies. She could save Harper. She unstrapped the lute from her back and was about to strike a chord—